


The Serpent's Lust

by ruffruffren



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffruffren/pseuds/ruffruffren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by pirates. His village burning to the ground in the distance. Aoba’s peaceful existence is thrown into chaos when he’s taken captive by a notorious crew of sea dwellers. </p><p>However his chance encounter with the captain of the ship reveals more about him than he ever thought possible.</p><p>With nothing left for him on shore, will Aoba stay on board the ship and assist the captain in his quest?</p><p>And in doing so, will Aoba give away more than just his freedom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned work.

Aoba felt his stomach growl, empty and demanding. He placed a trembling hand over it as if to somehow soothe the beast of his appetite, and a solemn thought pierced through the gloom of his mind.

_I’m sorry, Granny. But it looks like I wont be home in time for dinner tonight._

He clutched the blue crystal pendant about his neck at the thought of home. Then, from the back of his mind the ever helpful voice inside him tacked on its own thought.

_Or ever again._

Squashing the irritating bug of his inner voice was like swatting a fly; it always seemed to buzz around his ears, but was always one step ahead of the swatter. If there was one thing there was an over abundance of right now it was surely flies, not all of them figurative. At least for now the one in his mind was silent again, no doubt still lurking in the recesses, ready to rise up and speak out should the opportunity present itself.

Much like the rumble of his barren belly annoyances such as those were the very least of his worries.

_If I do ever get out of here… Granny will kill me for getting into this mess into the first place._

The thought of his elderly grandmother made his heart twist. The sweet scent of sugar that always surrounded her that had become the familiar scent of home…ah, he could almost smell the freshly baked doughnuts now, feel the warmth of them permeating the small comfortable house they lived in, chasing away the cold damp that rattled his bones now. Instead of cradling his knees to his chest as he did now in attempt to both generate warmth and console himself, he would have the little bundle of fur, his dog, to cuddle. The wet and slightly rough tongue of Ren would moisten his cheek opposed to the lonely tear.

Currently, he was alone in a room full of people, not that he would call this a room, though four wooden walls contained him and the others, the floor beneath them creaking and wheezing unsteadily. This was no room. It was a cell.

The other occupants were slumped together, basked in the dim and dying light of the setting sun as it seeped through the bars of the trap door above them, a mockery of pleasant sunbeams through a forest canopy. Some wept openly, their quiet sobs unnerving, others were silent and unmoving with gazes cast of into the distance, as unseeing as statues. As Aoba wiped his snotty nose clean on the back of his shirt he studied each of them, searching for the clue that united them all beyond their abrupt and sudden captivity. Amongst the unknown faces were some he recognised; there with the golden tresses that kissed her ankles was the village’s seamstress, across from her with the plump and rosy cheeks was the young baker’s wife, a smudge of ash from where she had wiped the sweat of her labours away darkening her brow. Leaning against her was a village girl Aoba knew only in passing, a smile always ready on her lips. But as Aoba caught her eye now she had no smile to give, the corners of her mouth weighted down by fear.

They were all frightened. None of them knew for what they had been brought here, the rough Hessian sacks pulled over their heads followed by the gruff voices in their ears, large hands marching them down the once safe and friendly pathways. Aoba had seen it happen, dropping the basket he was carrying on his way down to the harbour, the thought of bringing fresh fish home for dinner forgotten, his hand already curled into a fist ready to deliver a punch to the nearest attacker. So full of bravado he’d been that he hadn’t listened to the frantic barking of Ren at his feet and instead shook his hand of the pain his bruised knuckles gave him, marvelling as the punch knocked the skinny man clean off his feet. But the young girl he saved was still screaming, and she was the last thing Aoba had seen before all fell to darkness.

Jerked from his thoughts by the screech of hinges much in need of oiling, the cell was quickly hushed and all eyes nervously darted upwards, towards the grubby and toothless face that cast shadow over them.

‘Cap'ain says he wants you.’

The coarse sack cloaked his vision as soon as Aoba climbed from the cell. Through it he breathed in the thick sea air, catching a peculiar scent in amongst the salty tones, however he was grateful to be rid of the putrid stench from below, the concoction of unwashed and sweaty bodies pressed into a small space still riding on the ends of his senses, the buzz of the collecting flies a thing of the past.

He walked until he felt hands stopping him, the sack pulled back to reveal a new setting; he was now standing on the broad deck of a ship, and either side of him were the women from the cell, all standing in a line.

What Aoba had thought were the brilliant colours of a setting sun turned out to be something very different. Something much worse. The odd smell he noted before was the scent of burning.

His village was burning to the ground, the flames rising high and higher still was the thick, black plumes of smoke. It singed the sky until blazing oranges and yellows battled it out, as if left in the wake of the aftermath of a dragon’s fight for territory.

His grandmother and beloved pet were undoubtedly already falling victim, laying curled up together on the floor of their house as all turned to ash around them. In his mind he prayed for them to have a swift death, for their suffering to be over quickly. His grandmother was old. Her lungs would not stand against the smoke for long. As for Ren… he was but a small dog.

The screams of the remaining villagers roared up, carried across the ocean – a quick glance ordained they were too far out to sea to successfully swim the distance – forever engraved into his memory.

Aoba didn’t notice his fingers coiling, hands balled into fists and shaking violently at his sides, as he looked helplessly at the scene before him. Even though he could feel his heart shredding into pieces, he kept his eyes dry. The time to weep would be later, and not before the men who had done this.

The culprits were gathered about the deck, some slouching on the sides, others standing slack nearby. All eyes were upon the line of women, scouring them up and down like lambs chosen for the slaughter. They were unclean, their ragged, baggy shirts patched and torn and patched again, their faces weathered from life at sea. At their waists were pistols and small swords, and Aoba was certain from the shark-like eyes they possessed, that none would hesitate to slit a throat.

His home was soon to be nothing more than ash blowing in the wind and that was proof enough of their heartless cruelty.

_Pirates. So the rumours had been true._

'You’re a pretty good catch,’ One of the men, his head shaved but for a sprout of green in the centre, cupped a girl’s chin in his grubby hands and turned it left and right, 'Wonder if the cap'ain lemme have ya for the night…’

'Let her go.’ Aoba, swallowing down his sorrow, stepped out of the line and towards the girl. He drew his lips into a thin line, scowling as he summoned all the fierceness into his expression that he could. It was beyond him to just watch an innocent woman be harassed this way, to see anyone unfairly targeted. Like the punch he threw earlier the words were out of his mouth before he really considered the consequences. Action before thought; it was a common problem for Aoba.

_Now you’ve gone and done it._

'Feisty one, eh… I like 'em like that. They always… break the hardest.’ The man smiled, revealing more than a single missing tooth. He let the girl go gingerly, his attention now focused on Aoba.

There was a chuckle amongst the others, the observers, but Aoba ignored them, did his best to make himself look as intimidating as possible. He tightened his jaw, knotted his brows and straightened his back to stand a little taller.

'Pretty thing ain’t ya.’

'You’re mistaken.’ Aoba’s mouth felt dry but still he forced the words out, brushing over his wounded dignity. 'Unless it’s men you like.’

'Oho-’ The man stepped back, his colourless eyes drinking in Aoba’s slender body. His loose white shirt, dark slacks and knee-length boots, of which were still caked in mud from his trek through the fields with Ren the day before. 'I didn’t see that before… yer too pretty to be a man.’

Aoba clenched his teeth, unimpressed. He didn’t want to push them too far, all too aware that he was in no position to be cocky lest his guts paint the deck.

'What do you want us all for anyway? Why did you burn my home – my entire village – to the ground? I demand to know!’

’D'ya hear that boys? This little thing 'ere  _demands_  to know!’

More laughter. Aoba’s blood began to boil, his cheeks searing with heat. 'I’m no  _thing_ , you cretin.’ Within him he felt the tide of rage begin to swell, stirred by the same unfamiliar strength that overcame him earlier when he dived in to fight the girl’s assailants. For Aoba it was something akin to falling asleep; he felt the onset of oblivion creeping over him and when he least expected it… he found himself waking as if from a dream.

The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling upwards and he felt the self-assured tug of a smirk pulling on his lips as the man’s face dropped slightly. They were clearly not used to being challenged.

_It’ll be a good lesson for them, then._

'Listen 'ere, you…’ Grubby fingers reached out to touch, and Aoba could see the dirt and grime that festered beneath the overgrown fingernails. Though it was disgusting Aoba held his ground, staring hard into the man’s eyes without so much as a waver, baiting him, and taunting him with his eyes.

'Don’t you dare touch so much as hair on that head.' 


	2. Chapter 2

An imposing figure made more striking by the fiery destruction behind him loomed on the deck, his voice booming as low as rolling thunder. His long, weathered coat billowed in the wind as did his auburn tresses, whipping about a chiselled face that harboured no mercy. With cheeks more jagged than the cliff-sides and eyes as deep and knowledgeable as the ocean, he appeared considerably older than the rest of the thuggish crew upon his ship. There was no mistaking that this tall, muscled figure was the lead; the crew reacted strongly, their jeering faces now haunted by the shadow of fear. Even Aoba felt his knees tremble.

‘I thought I made it perfectly clear,’ The captain said, crossing the gap with long, powerful strides. For a moment Aoba was certain he was the target, his eyes instinctively closing as a large hand reached out. When he opened them again, he saw the man who had been harassing him suspended in the air, the captain’s fingers secure about his neck.

The sound of choking was ghastly, the man’s legs wriggling worthlessly like worms on the end of a hook.

Aoba watched open-mouthed and horrified, as the captain carried the man to the side of the ship. He held him up high over the deep water, the sound of his desperate struggle for both air and solid ground making Aoba’s stomach churn. The women silently watched beside him, but most had already averted their gazes to the floor. Perhaps that was the sensible thing to do, to turn away and keep a low profile, the voice inside his mind that often urged him to recklessness had now turned quiet.

'Gck…!’ The man struggled for his life, his face changing colour and eyes popping from their sockets, forced from their natural position with the strain. For a man who had possessed such lifeless eyes before they sure shone now with all the desperation of a dying star.

'Never disobey me.’ The captain spoke low, but loud enough to ensure the others heard.

A scream.

A dull thud.

Splash. Silence.

The captain turned around. His hands were empty.

'This is it?’

'Yes, cap'ain!’

'Hmph.’

In the commotion of the gruesome events Aoba had somehow slipped back into the line. He hid behind a veil of blue, shutting out the sound of death that permeated the air, already thick and heavy like an early morning fog.

The clunk of the captain’s boots sounded like a drum, heralding the approach of doom, and it wasn’t until they passed beneath Aoba’s narrowed field of view, pausing in front of him, that he realised he wasn’t breathing.

He felt rough, calloused hands tilt his chin up, his eyes cast down - he dare not look into those eyes, the eyes of a murderer. He was too afraid, as if to give in would be to stare into the hollow void of death itself.

'Look at me.’

He smelt something spicy prickle his nose.

'Look at me.’  

The fingers on his chin tightened painfully, and in a single involuntary flicker their eyes met, drizzled honey on gold.

Aoba’s breath was held captive in his lungs, and he felt like a spider caught in a web, unable to struggle or even fathom his freedom as the captain stared hard into him. The layers of his being were unravelled, piece by piece until his soul lay bare to him. It was as though all his secrets were plucked from his darkest depths, laid out under this look of unyielding judgement. The captain’s carved features gave nothing away, eyes narrowed like a hawk honing in on its prey, and then his rough grip loosened.

All too soon the spell of their moment was broken, and the captain was moving down the line with disinterest but for a single motion of his hand, 'This one goes, the rest stay.’

'Cap'ain!’ The crew let out a chorus of the word, drowning out the wail that came from the line.

It was the baker’s wife.

'N-No! Please! Spare me! I am with child! Have mercy!’ She cried, cupping her rounded belly. Aoba hadn’t noticed it before, but now she cradled herself the gentle swell became startlingly apparent. A few months at best, she was indeed carrying. The crew paid her no mind, one taking each arm and yanking her kicking and screaming to the side of the ship.

The captain walked slowly away, back to his cabin no doubt, the inspection now over. Over his shoulder he let out a call, and then he was gone. 'Pick one for the night. But don’t ruin her.’

_Doesn’t want to dirty his hands with this then, huh? Bastard._

Aoba didn’t watch.

His golden eyes bore into the back of the captain, a man whom he now harboured all the hatred in the world for, and in his heart he swore a silent vow.

_I will destroy you._

 

They were returned to the cell after that and the ship set sail.

A morose silence fell over the group, broken only by the slightest whimper as fresh tears began to fall from swollen eyes. They huddled together on the dirty floor as before, moving closer to each other as the sun began to set and the dead cold of night blew its frosty air over them.

Above them the hustle and bustle of the crew echoed down, their banter and laughter out of place with the events of the day, becoming increasingly jolly and rowdy as the night wore on. To the winners go the spoils.

For Aoba there was only the misery of defeat.

With nothing else to do his mind was stuck on the golden eyes of the captain and the intense moment they had shared.

_What the fuck was he looking at anyway?_

The helpful inner voice of his was back, having found its courage now that it was out of immediate danger.

'Ugh…’ Aoba groaned, his body tired from the constant rocking of the boat. The sea around them tossed them about, a mouse under the cat’s paw, playfully steering the ship this way and that without concern for its passengers. He had never been to sea before, despite living next to it, and he found the stirring waters reflected in the motion of his belly. A tide of vomit surged up his gullet, and as he wretched dryly he realised just how empty his stomach was, a hand resting on the grubby and slime ridden wall for support.

'We’re going to die in here.’ One of the girl’s said. 'We’re all doomed to die.’

'They wont kill us. Not all of us anyhow, jus’ the pretty ones.’ Another one said, irritably, 'They didn’t go to all that effort ta’ kill us all.’

Soon all of them were piping up, using their anger to heat their bones.

'How do ya know that?’

'Coz we’re worth too much to 'em. Did yer papa and mama shield you from the whispers on the wind, child?’

'Women, they only take the women!’

'Sell us, they will. Sell us.’

'Young lasses from harbour towns they take. You’ll be spendin’ the rest of yer days on yer back, legs in the air, ye will.’

Aoba listened quietly, wiping the drizzle of stomach acid and saliva that leaked from his lips. Slumping back down he watched the women work themselves into a frenzy; the horror of the young girl’s face as she realised the fate that awaited her. The older woman held back not her words, her language vulgar and offensive to Aoba’s ears as she described every vivid detail.

'And what of him?’ The girl gestured.

Aoba felt suddenly conscious of himself and looked to find all eyes were now upon him. He shrank down in his place, unsure how to respond.

_The hell you lookin’ at me for?_

'He’s no woman. What’s he for?’

'Maybe he’s 'ere to break you in.’

'I am not!’ Aoba protested, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. 'I will not. And I think you should stop scaring everyone with your stories, it’s not what we need to think about right now.’

'And what do yer suggest we do think about?’

'I-’

'It’s gone quiet.’ The seamstress’ quietly interrupted them, a quiver of terror making her voice quake.

'Eh?’ Aoba’s jaw fell slack and then he listened.

Upstairs. The jolly banter, the raucous laughter, all ceased. Just the empty sound of the wind and the waves and… footsteps.

'They be comin’ for one of yer.’ The woman warned, and the others instinctively moved closer together, huddling like a pack. Aoba was left out cold, eyes glued to the ceiling as the footsteps came to a stop. Right over the hatch in the ceiling.

'Cap'ain said we could have one of yer.’ A gruff voice came down, and instantly Aoba’s skin began to crawl. The hatch shrieked open. 'An’ we all know who.’

Aoba turned a shade whiter than pale.


	3. Chapter 3

If the cell had been cold then out here on the deck was by far colder. With no walls to shield the midnight breeze, Aoba’s teeth began to chatter, already bared with his disdain, eyes narrowed to slits as he stood on the final frontier of disobedience.

The sky above was beautifully clear, every glistening star gleaming like a jewel and the moon an ominous, milky crescent. Together they ruled the heavens without a misty cloud to challenge them, and it was nights like this that Aoba spent stargazing up on the hill where he often trekked with Ren at his ankles. He would lay down in the grass, a hand extended as if he might pluck a diamond from the sky itself, a contented sigh escaping him. There was to be no such simple pleasure this night.

‘I will not.’ Aoba said, inwardly cussing as his words materialised in the form of wispy curls of air.  _Damn, it’s cold out here._ What made it worse was the crew’s complete lack of reaction to the cold – apparently they were used to this, Aoba supposed bitterly. 'I wont.’

'You bloody will.’ The amused tone made Aoba even angrier, the dingy scraps of cloth thrust at him once more. 'Start strippin’ or we’ll do it for ya.’

A chorus of mirthful, drunken laughter.

Aoba didn’t budge. He stared defiantly onwards, straight into the eyes of one of his tormentors.

When one of them came down the pit it was him they came for. They dragged him out roughly, ignoring his kicks and protests as they yanked him by the scruff of his neck out onto the deck. The crew had already gathered, their faces pink with alcohol fuelled merriment. Flung into the centre of them all they closed in on him before thrusting a set of rags under his nose. Aoba didn’t even bother to see what it might be, knowing only that they insisted he wear whatever it was.

'Do it, then.’ Aoba challenged, his gaze unfaltering. For how long he could keep up the false bravado was beyond him, though. His knees were weak and already rattling with cold or with fear or both, a single step in any direction would make him collapse into a pile of bones, and yet still he held outwardly fast.

Who threw the first punch Aoba couldn’t decipher for he was caught unaware, but he felt it. He felt it alright, the force piling into his gut and knocking the breath clean out of his lungs. He doubled over, clutching at his abdomen and gasping for air. 'Gyuk!’

'Hehe, we’ll beat the fight outta ya if we have'ta.’

Aoba winced, the sensitive tendrils of his long hair pulled harshly, the stinging pain as sharp as a thousand knives, his eyes opening just in time to catch the glimmer in his opponent’s face before another fist connected with the soft flesh of his cheek, shaking his brain of everything but pain. As he stumbled from that they gripped his arms, held them tightly behind his back. Defenceless, fists rained upon his face, his head swinging left and right, every blow sending him reeling.

'See, boys? I told ya he’d take it better than a girl.’

Spitting the blood out of his mouth – a tooth, perhaps, along with it – Aoba knew he had little fight left in him. His stomach was empty, his body weak as a result. Even as he tried to kick at them it did little to help his cause. He was cornered, well and truly, and every attempt only prolonged the inevitable.

'Not too much on his face. I like his face.’

'Bas…tards…’ Aoba hissed. His cheeks were bloodied and bruised already, his head hanging down as he struggled to catch his breath.

'Strip ya, ye said.’

’…Nhn…? Ah… Get off me…!’ Aoba wriggled, his arms still caught in a vice-like grip behind his back, as hands began to grab at his clothes. His shirt was first to go, the fragile fibres tearing like paper. The sound of shredding cotton was loud in his ears as two hairy hands pulled on either side of the collar with such strength it tore quickly down the centre. The icy wind was quick to caress his skin and he shrieked from the cold. 'L-Let me go!’

'See ye found yer voice again. I’m glad. You sound good like that.’

'Hehe, he’s so flat chested. I guess he really is a guy…’

'Nah, her titties are just small. I wonder if they’re sensitive…’

'N-No…!’ Aoba’s eyes widened, the folds of his shirt flicked aside, his taut pink nipples exposed. They hardened quickly in the chill, proudly protruding from his chest invitingly. He bit into his lip as the same hands that tore apart his shirt now lay claim to the hardened nubs.

Calloused fingers first gripped and then pulled. Aoba let out a strangled cry, blushing furiously as the crew around him began to laugh.

'I think he liked it!’

'Pull 'em more!’

'Milk him!’

'No!’ Aoba bellowed, kicking out his legs. He felt his foot lodge against something hard, followed by the surprised yelp of one of the crew. Instantly the hands were gone from his chest.

'Bitch!’

Aoba’s victory was short lived and earned him a sound back-hander. His teeth clashed together, and without a doubt had his tongue been between them he would’ve bitten it off as a result of the impact.

'You need to calm down.’

’…Pl-Please…’ Aoba quivered, eyes staring down the cold steel of a dirty blade. Through the flickering haze he could see dark coloured spots staining the knife, the tip poised to slice his neck. Blood. And soon to be his own if he kept on, a single movement and his head would not be his own.

'Thas’ it. Now me 'n the others wanna see you in this purdy lil’ dress we got jus’ for you. But since you dun’ wanna play nice with us,’ Slowly the blade dragged down Aoba’s naked chest, just enough to leave a stinging sensation in its wake, 'We’ll force you into it.’

The blade continued its journey down until it reached the belt of Aoba’s breeches. There it toyed along the ridge playfully before slashing through the leather effortlessly.

'A-Ah!’ Aoba yelped in surprise, all too aware that he too could easily face the same gruesome fate.

With nothing to hold them in place Aoba’s breeches were tugged from his legs, leaving him cold and shivering, his skinny knees knocking together.

'I guess he really is a boy.’

'It’s quite small though.’

'Haha open his legs I wanna see his hole.’

'W-Wait, no… please…! Don’t-!’ Aoba’s pleas were ignored, drowned out by the chorus of school boy giggles as his thighs were pried open, leaving him pitifully exposed. His cheeks blazed with shameful heat as they held him open, gawking at him without reservation, their beady eyes chasing away any sense of pride he may have had left. He wanted to cover himself, to struggle, but the blade still lingered dangerously close in the crewman’s hand, a prominent force behind his weakened resolve and compliance. He shivered as the ocean wind whipped against him, frightfully frosty.  

With his hands held so tightly behind him he could do nothing to cover himself, feeling like nothing more than livestock under scrutiny.

_Why are you doing this to me… please don’t look at me there…_

'Oho! Would you look at that!’

'A hole is a hole. Put the damn dress on him – I don’t really wanna see his dick any more.’

'Aye, put it on!’

'Yeah!’

Amongst the cheers Aoba was barely able to decipher the meaning behind their words. Despite his lack of verbal understanding, the dirty rags thrust towards him spelled it out perfectly, his hands released from their captivity. In a quivering palm he took it, his jaw firmly locked as anger and fear battled inside him, unable to work out which he felt more.

'You want me to… wear this…?’ He asked dumbly, holding the soiled dress up. It was stained and torn, and how it came to be without the original owner Aoba dared not ponder. Clothing was clothing and as his skin prickled with goosebumps he shuffled awkwardly into it, trying hard to ignore the foul stench that assaulted his senses.  It made him sick to his stomach, any traces of sweet perfumes that once graced the fabric long gone, and with the thought came the realisation this was not the crew’s first time doing this.

'Ah, he looks better than the last one.’

'Aye, 'tis so. But she had such a warm cunt.’

'Mhm, that she did.’

'Not to worry. I’m sure his ass’ll suffice. Probably tighter, too!’

The raucous laughter made Aoba’s stomach churn, the knots inside him tightening further as the bile in the back of his throat rose up, his mind conjuring up disturbing images of what they may do to him. Their intentions were clear and it made his blood run cold.

The mirth in the crew reached a peak, and fuelled by copious quantities of alcohol, they began to sing. It was an old and crude sea shanty Aoba had not had the pleasure of hearing before.

 

 _I put me hand upon her thigh_  
yo ho yo ho  
I put me hand upon her thigh  
yo ho yo ho  
I put me hand upon her thigh  
she said hey pirate don’t make me cry

As their jolly voices rose up their hands grabbed at Aoba’s body, sliding down to his thighs and touching them through the dress before pushing him away. Tripping over the hem he stumbled into the arms of another, another lecherous verse pouring into his ears.

 

_I put me hand upon her tit_ _  
_ _yo ho yo ho_ _  
_ _I put me hand upon her tit_ _  
_ _yo ho yo ho_ _  
_ _I put me hand upon her tit_ _  
_ _she said hey pirate quit squeezin it_

_  
_In a grim echo of the lyrics, Aoba felt his already sensitised nipples pulled and rubbed, the flimsy fabric covering them only making it more torturous. He groaned in dismay, wriggling free of the overly familiar fingers only to find himself flung into the arms of another.

 

 _I put me hand upon her twat_  
yo ho yo ho  
I put me hand upon her twat  
yo ho yo ho  
I put me hand upon her twat  
she said hey pirate now that’s the spot

 

'N-No!’ Aoba’s voice was but a whisper in the wind, drowned out by the merry singing and laughter. They found his humiliation most amusing, slapping away his hands easily as their own buried themselves beneath the dress, searching out the place between his shaking legs.

To his disgust they pulled on his flaccid cock, laughing harder as it failed to respond to their rough ministrations. He wanted to vomit; to feel such vile hands tainting him, touching him where no one else had. His first experience… his first time… was it truly going to be this way?

Aoba was not the most romantic of sorts, there was a hillside in his hometown where most of the boys took the girls for a private moment and if he were honest, Hehad wanted to do it himself ~~,~~  but none of the girls took his fancy. Neither did the boys, for that matter. Though the irritating voice in his mind often urged him to experiment Aoba ignored it, believing his time would eventually come.

_Look where your hesitation has gotten us. We’re going to be raped by… how many… ten, twelve of them? I bet their cocks are filthy, too. Ah. It could have been such a pleasant experience, too._

As if on cue, the voice was back and sharp-tongued as ever, washing over Aoba’s fractured and frightened mind like mud.

 

 _I put me cock into her ass_  
yo ho yo ho  
I put me cock into her ass  
yo ho yo ho  
I put me cock into her ass -

 

'Stop, now!’ Aoba howled, panic stricken as his legs were kicked out from underneath him.

The dress was around his waist, and his naked backside exposed. He was dizzy from being thrown about, and now that he was face-to-face with the deck he felt even queasier. If there had been anything in his stomach it would not have remained there long.

'I’m first!’

The melodic jingle of belt buckles opening heralded Aoba’s worst fears. He began to weep openly, quietly murmuring for mercy as anonymous fingers pulled his ass cheeks open, the slurred lyrics of the song fading into the background. Or was it that his consciousness was ebbing away?

'Don’t… don’t do this…’

'Shouldn’t you make it wet first?’

'Not my fault if the bitch ain’t wet.’

_They’re going to do it._

Help me.

_They’re going to fuck you raw and throw you overboard._

Help me. Someone.

'Stick it in then!’

'I’m tryin’ but he’s clenched so tight.’

'Tighter than a virgin, eh?’

'Aye!’

_No one will help you. No one is coming for you._

I don’t want-

_You haven’t got a fucking choice. They don’t care what you do or do not want._

'Pl-Please, stop!’Aoba’s blunt nails dug into the unrelenting wood of the deck, finding no purchase there he slipped, whacking his chin and sending spirals of bright lights across his already murky vision. He was going to pass out.

_Where the fuck are you trying to run away to? You’re pathetic._

The voice inside his mind sounded angry, rising in volume, and as it did the murkiness blurring Aoba’s vision increased.

'Bitch! Stop… wriggling!’

'Ah-!’ Aoba’s backside smarted with the stinging slap, the cold air rushing to his heated skin. Barely able to focus on that pain he felt the tendrils of his hair pulled sharply, a thousand knives pressing into his skull for every single strand.

'Nhn-!’

'I’m sick of watching. You have two holes and I prefer mine wet.’ The crewman’s hard member appeared inches in front of Aoba’s face, the tip flushed and straining, its potent smell stung his nostrils as they flared in protest. His instinct was to turn away, closing his eyes and holding his mouth tightly shut. It only made them laugh, tug his hair harder, and press the silky, putrid head to his lips.

'Nrf!’

'Open your mouth, whore.’

'And your ass.’ The other one grumbled from behind, his fingers now roughly probing at Aoba’s entrance. Their bluntness poked and prodded at his hole before forcing their way inside. It burned and ached, fresh hot tears rolling over Aoba’s wind beaten cheeks.

'Ah-hrf-’ As soon as his lips opened the foul cock before his face entered, too, leaving Aoba feeling like a piece of meat speared on a stick.

’…Hng…!’

I can’t… I can’t take this…

_Giving up so soon?_

It hurts too much. I don’t want this.

_Switch with me._

He could taste it. The salt of the flesh, the tint of something else lingering in the folds as the crewman’s cock dragged over his reluctant tongue, back and forth, seeping its offensive flavour into every corner of Aoba’s drooling mouth.

_Switch._

What?

_Switch with me. I’ll make it go away._

'That should have loosened him up a little.’

The incessant probing inside his ass, that dull scraping, suddenly ceased. And in its place something much larger began to push into him.

_Switch with me. Switch with me now._

I-

_Do it. Switch. Switch. Switch._

'Ahhh!’

_Switch. Switch. Switch._

The pain was fading away.

_Switch._

Quietly, steadily, it was going away, until he felt nothing. He could hear the muffled voices of the crew as if his ears had been filled with cotton. Whatever they said no longer mattered. It was peaceful here – wherever here was – and Aoba found himself at last warm, protected and with an odd sense of safety, as if all that had happened had not happened at all.

As muffled as the voices of the crewmen became there was one that came through to him clearly. A voice he recognised, loud and clear.

_It’s my turn now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics used are from a shanty I found online. Only part of the song was used. Below is the link to the full song if you are interested:
> 
> www.youtube.com/watch?v=wu-DieWVT5A


	4. Chapter 4

When Aoba woke it was with a heavy head and the realisation he had blacked out. The tendrils of his sensitive hair tingled as if recently pulled. Much the same he found a chunk of his memories missing, as if they too had been tugged cruelly from his head. In particular, the part where he had his personal space being abused and ending up here – wherever here was, exactly – was the exact bit he could not remember. Still, there was always going to be a blank spot when switching.

His vision was slowly returning, the blurred corners focusing as if he was tuning his eyes. The first thing he noticed was he was sitting down, his back propped against something sturdy. He couldn’t feel the sharp and abrasive ocean air chafing his skin, and instead felt the luxury of warmth; he had been rescued from his plight – somewhat embarrassing considering  _he_  was here, and  _he_  was perfectly capable of chewing off a man’s dick should it happen to be in his mouth, unlike his other half. He was safe and sound, it seemed, but that only served to concern him more.

‘You’re finally awake.’ A gruff voice came to his ears, momentarily startling Aoba.

He croaked an answer, finding his throat impossibly dry. He swallowed what little saliva formed in his mouth and tried again, instantly wishing he hadn’t.

’…ou?’

He squinted his eyes, somehow convincing them to be useful again if only in dribs and drabs. He could make out a broad back, hunched over, head down; a few stray dreads trailed over his shoulders, and the light scratching of a quill permeated the space left in the wake of that booming voice.

'Who I am is none of your concern,’ The quill paused its incessant scribbling. The bowed head lifted, the shoulders slackened; Aoba held his breath, waiting for something to happen.

Infuriatingly, the silence dragged on. The quill dipped in to a pot, clinking as the excess was carefully and meticulously worn off, before the scratching began again, not a word spoken.

_I’m in no hurry. It’s not like I have anywhere to go._

His thoughts ran in his mind and filled in the gap left by man’s insatiable silence. He watched every movement carefully, already well aware that the man before him was the captain. He had a fair idea of this man’s temperament. The one who wasn’t shy to throw women overboard, and in the same breath one of his own crew. He was seemingly wild and out of control, cut free from all the chains that bound a normal member of society. He was exactly the kind of man that  _he_  liked.

Then he noticed it, the plain tankard, inconspicuously placed upon the desk.

He needed that drink. Whatever it was – water, wine, poison or even piss. Aoba’s eyes honed in on it and he felt his thirst rise up inside him like an awakened beast. He needed that water to wash away the filth that lingered on the back of his tongue, but his body was weak from over exertion, and to make matters worse,  _he’d_  never been in control before. Getting that cup of water was a much higher demand than perhaps either of them realised; however, sitting here propped against a wall wasn’t helping him much either, and so he got to his feet.  His wobbly, unsteady feet. It was like walking on stalks of jelly, the usually sturdy mass of muscle and bone melted down into nothing but mulch. It was frustrating in the least not being able to walk properly, and he was still wearing the god forsaken dress, the hem of which was catching under his naked toes, making the entire process even harder.  _All this for a glass of fucking water,_  he thought bitterly. If his throat wasn’t drier than an old hag’s cunt he wouldn’t have bothered.

No sooner had Aoba’s fingers curled around the body of the cup did a sharp sting radiate up his arm.  He yelped in surprise, unsure of what occurred. He could feel his hand burning in the wake of a slap. He recoiled his hand sharply in surprise.

Aoba swallowed hard, the realisation making him nervous. He hadn’t forgotten the events that afternoon – he hadn’t forgotten his village, the acrid smell of burning wood and bodies as if the two were alike, nor had he forgotten the treatment received at the hands of the crew.

'I do not recall inviting you to drink, boy.’

_Like that is it? Bastard._

Holding back his temper wasn’t something Aoba – this part of him anyway - was particularly renowned for and before he knew it the words were spilling carelessly from his mouth.

'That’s good because I don’t remember asking for it.’ He reached out again for the tankard with hardened determination.

The captain grunted and in a move more childish than Aoba could apprehend, moved the tankard to the other side of the desk, just out of reach.

'Do I have to earn that, too?’ Aoba prompted, growing desperate and falling into a state of false bravado. Excellent start, yet there was something alluring about the man’s reckless and cold behaviour. The unpredictability of it, the unrestrained indulgence of violence. Something he could relate to, but rarely got to do. His dominant side – currently snoozing soundly in the back of their mind, sleeping off the trauma of almost being gang raped – was much too serious and held down by society’s strict standards. He was asleep now, though, and wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, he’d make sure of it, and so his next offer wasn’t so much falsified as it was genuine.

'Want me to suck your cock, big boy?’

Aoba heard a huff, a gentle movement of air, expelled from within the warm lungs of the captain. Actually, they were probably frozen over from proximity to that stone cold heart.

'Hmph. You think you are funny, calling me ‘boy’? Tell me why I shouldn’t unburden my ship of your worthless ass.’

'I suck dick pretty good. I’d recommend you ask your crew but, uh… I kind of had a moment back there. All sorted now. Promise.  And what else should I call you, hm?  I bet I’d moan your name real good if you told me.’

'Is that all you can offer?’

'Tempting though, isn’t it?’ With his free hand Aoba reached out, boldly cupping the captain’s crotch in his palm. He held his gaze steadily, silently challenging. He felt around with his palm, kneading the flesh underneath the dark brown fabric.  _Fuck me,_  Aoba thought,  _he’s big._

The captain’s expression altered not an inch and neither did his member.

'What if I sent you back outside to demonstrate your skills?’

'You’re the one who helped me out? Then I really owe you one.’ Aoba squeezed, hard. 'C'mon, don’t be shy.’

'Hmph. Very well, it’s ‘Mink’.’ The captain let go of Aoba’s arm. 'Do a good job and try not to pass out.’

 _Mink?  What kind of fucking name is that?_ Aoba thought before slipping onto his knees. He had made it twenty three years without a single dick in his mouth, and here he was about to do it again for the second time in one night, only this time was considerably more consensual. Sort of.

The hand that had been slowly massaging Mink now began to unlace the leather string that held his pants closed, his eyes focused entirely on the task at hand. He wasn’t wrong about the size. Pulling out the flaccid member it was still a fair size in this state. He took it into his palm, stroked over the surface lightly, felt the loose skin wrinkle and straighten as he tightened his grip and tugged, easing the foreskin back from the silky tip before encasing it once more. He could smell the erotic aroma of it, the rawness of a man’s cock – salt, semen and the stench of piss – all mixed together. Delicious.

'You know,  _Mink,_ I don’t really want a flaccid cock in my mo-’

'No one asked your opinion. No one cares what you do or do not want.’ Mink seized Aoba’s head, wind-bitten fingers clawing at his sensitive hair, and stuffed his member into his mouth. He began to move Aoba’s head forcefully up and down the length as if his face was nothing more than a pretty fuck-hole. The movement rattled every cell in Aoba’s brain, leaving nothing in place but the screaming pain shooting down the nerves of his hair. To make matters worse, the captain was starting to harden in the heat of his mouth. Slowly but surely the once soft flesh became swollen with arousal, filling the small span of Aoba’s mouth with ease and plenty more to follow. Soon enough he was struggling to accommodate, the tip of Mink’s cock hitting the back of his throat until he gagged. He instinctively pulled himself back, tried to alleviate the pressure on his throat, but his captor only tightened his grip.

'Giving up so soon?’ The taunt fell from above, as sharp and icy as hail. 'I thought you were good at this.’

Peering through the blurred vision was hard enough, but Aoba was pissed and determined. He glared up at the captain, even as his mouth was dragged up and down against his will, meeting the hard stare with equal fervour. He poured all his hatred into his eyes until they glowed brightly with the adrenaline of the challenge, pushing Mink to take it further, to completely wreck his face.

_Go on. I can take it. Do your worst. I’m game. Wreck me. Break me. Destroy me. I can take it all._

The sounds coming from his throat were inhuman, a sickening gurgle followed by a fresh batch of thick and foamy saliva. It dripped readily onto the wooden floor, lathered itself along the older man’s length to collect at the base. It was messy as hell and completely unrefined and it was only just starting.

The message had been received. A low grunt emitted from deep within Mink’s throat like a signal, a warning for what was about to come. With his large palms he took Aoba’s head roughly, one digging into the back of his head while the other seized him beneath his chin. Now Aoba couldn’t move at all, not of his own will. He was a prisoner, and the sudden helplessness dawned on him harshly. With his face held in place, Mink fucked his mouth mercilessly, long and drawn out strokes becoming quick and short thrusts deep into the back of Aoba’s gurgling throat, the fabric of his breeches rubbing against his tear stained cheeks.

It hurt. He struggled and fought for air, clawing with blunt nails at Mink’s hips and slapping desperately. He clenched his eyes shut, the pressure building inside him forcing them closed. Blood thundered in his ears and the sound of his own suffocation roared louder and louder with every cruel thrust.

'You wanted  _this_?’ The captain squeezed out from between clenched teeth, huffing the words as a heavy breath rather than an actual spoken sentence.

Aoba would have answered but it seemed his mouth was otherwise occupied. Mink was intent on smashing his hips into his face, his hold never once loosening – not even an inch. The hand around his throat made it more restricted, and Aoba could feel his entire length vanishing down into him with every sharp roll of his hips.

He was going to choke – no – he was already choking, he was going to suffocate. Behind his eyes the darkness became darker, mixing murky with murkier until…

'You sicken me.’ Mink roughly pushed Aoba away, his cock springing out and glistening triumphantly in the air beneath a thick coat of heavy saliva. Aoba didn’t have time to admire it, however, clutching at his throat as he desperately sucked in air, felt it fill his empty lungs and expel it with an unhealthy cough.

'Bastard!’ He wheezed, wiping at his stained cheeks and lips with the back of his hand. He came up smirking despite the pounding in his head.

'That was good.’ He chuckled dryly, for he was still parched and in need of refreshment. It was good enough for him that to his mild surprise his cock was hard. Concealed beneath the ample draping of the dress it wasn’t noticeable to the naked eye, but Aoba could feel a deep pulsing arousal warming his hips.

'For you, maybe.’ He huffed, turning his head side to side. If he was capable of expression his lips may have curled in disgust, but as he was set in stone the weathered features remained stoic.

As he caught his breath back Aoba glanced around the room. It was the captain’s cabin for sure, but it was filled with peculiar curiosities, items and objects Aoba had never seen the likes of. Probably all stolen from far-away lands.

On the wall were woven fabrics with sharp angles depicted in plain colours, the desk Mink had been writing on housed the usual items – a quill, paper with his half-finished work written neatly – and a few other things. Pots and potions, Aoba figured, glancing over them briefly. When he lazily turned his attention back to Mink the burning in his lungs had eased, but his throat…

'Can I have that water now?’ Aoba asked, inclining his head to the cup.

Mink turned, reached his arm out and effortlessly retrieved the cup. It looked tiny in his hands. 'You want this?’

'Yeah.’

'You think you earned it with that? I had to do the work myself.’ Mink sighed. He was tipping the cup, the contents edging dangerously close to spilling. Aoba’s eyes widened and then narrowed, flicking from the cup and back to Mink.

'You…’

The first droplets fell to the floor, turned the wood dark. Then the rest came, tip-tapping onto the ground like a suspended waterfall until it ran dry. Anger rose up inside Aoba as he watched – anger and helplessness. His situation was bad enough that he didn’t want dehydration to be written off as his cause of death. He wanted something more epic, more fitting of his status – something that said he went down with one hell of a fight. Not because he succumbed to something as weak as needing water.

'I told you to earn it, boy. Nothing is free on this ship.’

'Bastard. Fucking my throat as if it was a whore’s snatch didn’t do it for you? My mouth ain’t broken. Maybe your dick is though.’

Those were fatefully ill words.

Aoba’s vision whirled round as his hair was cast into an iron grasp. He caught a flash in Mink’s eyes, of anger or hatred or  _something_ , and if he had enough time to smirk he surely did before his face hit the icy cold water. Where it had come from he didn’t know, nor did he care, thrashing about wildly on his knees as he suffocated again. He lashed out with his arms, finding and locking onto the thick limb that held him down, clawing at it as his lungs burned, to no avail.

In a moment of mercy his head was lifted and he gasped frantically.

'This is what you want?’ The captain growled, and before Aoba could answer he was thrust back into the water. All around him he could hear the muffled cries, panicked and increasingly terrified, realising they were his own. He was making those sounds, sounds like nothing he had heard before.

When he was lifted from the water he sharply sucked in air, coughing out the fluid he had inhaled. His hair clung to his face, moulded to it like a second skin, one that felt as if it were melting off, cold and wet and damp and dripping.

'Did that satisfy your thirst?’

'Ah…haha…’ Aoba spluttered, spewing water and saliva onto the floor. He spied the bucket that had drowned him, the spilt water soaking into the deck surrounding it. ’…I think it went down the wrong hole.’

Mink merely grunted. Nothing more and nothing less. He wasn’t amused by Aoba’s quick remarks in the least, but that didn’t mean they would stop anytime soon. He’d been trapped inside for so long he wanted to take this chance to speak every god damn thing that came into his mind. No one would stop him, no one would filter him out. He was free to speak all the unadulterated nonsense he pleased and so he shall.

'Let him go.’ Mink muttered firmly.

'Haha… not so easily.’ Aoba smirked, pleased and amused by the pirate’s perception. The personality switch had not gone unnoticed. 'Why don’t you fuck him back out?’

'That makes no sense.’

'Who cares? If you fuck me good enough, then I’ll let him back out. For a while.’

’…Tch.’ Clicking his tongue was merely a distraction for the balling of his fist. Aoba didn’t notice it, too taken by the fire lit deep in Mink’s shark-like eyes. He could see it burning brightly, thawing the thick icy wall he kept his emotions hidden behind. Mink was losing the firm control over himself. Aoba had gotten beneath his skin, flowing as intimately as the blood in his veins. Victory was his.

The smirk upon his lips was quickly wiped away as Mink’s knuckles collided with his jaw, knocking his vision into a state of blurred disarray. For several seconds he couldn’t see firmly, and it was long enough for Mink to grab the collar of his dress and pull him to his feet, before slamming him against the wall of the cabin.

'Haha…haha…finally…giving in to me, eh?’ Aoba ignored the painful, deep throb in his jaw in favour of the more sensual one in his groin. He liked the rough and tumble. It made him feel alive; it reassured him he was in control, that the pain rippling through the tendrils of his soaked hair was truly being felt, that the eyes he looked through as he met Mink’s gaze were  _his_.

'You like what you see?’ Aoba cooed, lifting his dress to reveal his hardened member. It jutted out lewdly from his slender hips, twitching, beckoning Mink to touch it.

'I might not have a wet cunt for you, but I assure you… I’ll be tighter than anything you’ve had before.’ With a cocky grin Aoba wrapped his hand around his member, squeezed it tightly until a drop of fluid oozed from his tip.

'Your language is filthier than any whore I’ve had.’ Mink retorted, and quickly gripped Aoba’s wrists. He held them above his head, pressed to the wall, and for the first time Aoba was able to fully appreciate how large the captain was. With the candle behind him, Mink’s broad frame cast a shadow, his body looming several inches taller – and wider – over Aoba’s.

'Come on then…haha… fuck me already. Destroy me. Wreck me. Ruin me.’ The torrent of words fell from Aoba feverishly, interspersed with manic laughter as he bucked his hips forward, seeking the erotic touch he craved.

In his thick palm Mink gripped Aoba’s leg, slung it around his waist and pushed forward, angling his cock for a quick insertion. Without preparation it went in dry, dragging along Aoba’s inner walls and tearing him asunder.

'A-Ahh…!’ He cried out, closing his eyes as tears stung at the corners, his body shaking violently as Mink forced his way into him. 'Haha…ahh….!’

'Is this… what you wanted?’ Mink spoke from between gritted teeth, stopping only at the hilt, his cock entirely sheathed. 'Does this satisfy you, boy?’

'Hahaha…! M-More!’ Aoba begged, opening his eyes and hooking his leg tighter around Mink’s waist. He was pinned against the wall, his toes barely touching the ground, his entire weight rested on Mink’s cock. He could feel it sinking impossibly further inside his tormented body, a guttural moan leaking from him as he sunk down. He welcomed it, he craved every ounce of pain that raked him, and he did not go hungry.

Mink pounded into him, the coarse fabric of his breeches rubbing on Aoba’s tender flesh with every thrust. It pushed the air from his lungs, made it difficult to breathe so that he snatched desperate gasps at every chance, clawing at the air with his fingers in search of anchorage.

'Ah…ahn….ghk…More…Mink…I need…. more…! H-Harder…ahh….!’

'Hng…!’ Mink grunted with exertion, letting go of Aoba’s hands and instead lifting him fully, cupping his ass and spreading him wider, slamming forcefully forward with all his might.

'Ahh….that’s it…!’

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the unsteady rhythm as Mink pounded him, fucked him rougher than he ever thought possible. He clung to him now, arms gripping the fabric of his jacket, shaking legs firmly wrapped around his waist. He was guided down to meet Mink’s thrusts, moaning louder and louder as the intensity between his hips grew stronger.

'G-Gonna….come…!’ With just his cock rubbing on Mink’s abdomen and nothing else, Aoba found his climax sweeping over him. The sticky fluid shot carelessly from his tip, coating Mink’s clothes shamefully. When it passed, he fell limp, allowing Mink to toss him about like a ship in a storm until he too, came. He shuddered hard as the fluid filled him, deeply, every spasm keenly felt by Aoba.

'Was  _that_  enough?’ Mink said at last, panting hard, still cupping Aoba against him.

’…Nhn…’ Was Aoba’s only response, too dazed by the sweet afterglow of his orgasm to give his usual witty remark.

Mink’s throat rumbled with another grunt and he pulled out quickly, earning one last yelp from Aoba.

With the thick cock no longer gauging him open and propping him up, he slid back down the wall to the floor, giving one last smirk of satisfaction as the fluid inside him began to seep out.

'Thank you.’ He whispered. His eyes closed slowly, the weight upon his lids pulling them down. He gave no resistance.

'What for?’ Mink asked, nudging at Aoba’s succumbing body with the tip of his boot. 'Oi. Wake up. Don’t pass out on me now.’


End file.
